


Darling, It's Better

by fatal_drum



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Flirting, Friends With Benefits, Jon is oblivious, M/M, Martin's crush on Jon is visible from space, Mild D/s Overtones, Office Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21537895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: It's dangerous letting Tim get bored at work. Lucky for him, he remembered to bring a snack, and Jon shouldn't be back for hours...
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 47
Kudos: 464





	Darling, It's Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kess/gifts).



> Dedicated to Kess, who's been hungry for Tim fic and helped come up with this scenario! Many thanks to Cuttooth for their encouragement and beta skills! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic and would like to see more like it, let me know here, on Tumblr (fataldrum), or on Twitter (fatal_drum). 
> 
> Title stolen from The Little Mermaid because I'm a horrible person.

It’s half past three, and Tim is getting restless. He’s hit a dead end with the statement he’s investigating, waiting on replies to three separate emails and one voice message, and it’s too late in the day for him to want to start anything else. Jon’s not around, and under normal circumstances, he would try to talk Sasha into playing hooky, but she’s allegedly at the dentist’s. _(If you wanted to get drilled, why didn’t you say something?_ he’d joked, and she’d lectured him on the importance of dental hygiene until Elias came to ask her about...actually, he’s not sure. He tends to tune Elias out the moment he confirms his input isn’t needed.)

That leaves Martin. His co-worker is leaning studiously over his desk, poring over a sheaf of paper that looks older than the Institute. His glasses have slid down to the tip of his nose, and he pushes them up again with one finger, then brushes a lock of hair out of his face. Martin’s curls are lovely and thick, perfect for gripping in the heat of passion, but they never stay in place. Tim finds it utterly charming. 

“Looks fascinating,” Tim says, perching on the edge of Martin’s desk. “What is it? Weather reports from southeast Idaho? Toilet paper receipts from 1892?”

“Ugh,” Martin groans, putting his head in his hands. “Don’t get me started.”

Tim lays a friendly hand on the back of Martin’s neck, squeezing gently. “You sound stressed,” he says, pitching his voice deliberately low. 

Martin looks up, ears turning pink. “I mean—I guess we all are?”

Tim licks his lips, giving Martin a clear once over. 

“I could help you with that,” he murmurs. 

Tim likes Martin. They’ve fucked a few times, friendly encounters after a few drinks, and it’s always fun. He’d worried initially about Martin getting too attached, but to his relief, Martin’s maintained no illusions about him becoming a monogamist any time soon. 

“W-what do you mean?”

“Move your chair back,” Tim orders. 

Martin scoots back, giving Tim the room he needs to slide to his knees before him. Tim pushes his thighs apart gently, looking up at him through his eyelashes. 

“I’m getting a bit peckish,” he says. “And _you_ are a snack.”

Martin laughs, startled, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “We—we shouldn’t,” he says in between giggles. 

“But Martin,” he says dramatically. “I might starve to death. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“Jon could come back,” Martin points out.

“That’s the fun of it.” He gives Martin a cheeky grin. “Just like that little fantasy you told me about.”

Martin flushes. “I—that’s—”

“Just think about it,” Tim murmurs, palming Martin’s thighs. “Getting off right here at your desk, when anyone could walk in? Doesn’t that get you hot?”

He lays a hand on Martin’s groin, pressing lightly. “Jon shouldn’t be back for hours.”

Martin squirms, pushing greedily against Tim’s hand. 

“I—Tim—oh, just get up here,” he orders, breathing hard. 

“Yes, _sir,”_ Tim quips, gladly climbing into Martin’s lap. Martin’s arms come around him, drawing him down for a kiss that immediately turns filthy. Tim takes pleasure in making Martin melt beneath him, making low, needy sounds that go straight to Tim’s cock. He grinds down against Martin’s lap, making them both moan. 

“I can’t wait to taste you,” Tim whispers, and Martin bites his lip. 

Tim slips a hand between them, dipping below Martin’s waistband until he feels hot flesh. Martin makes a choked sound as Tim strokes him. 

“Tim, please—” Martin begs.

Tim presses a last kiss to his lips before sliding to his knees. He unbuckles Martin’s belt with practiced ease, helping him wriggle out of his trousers. Martin’s boxers are lilac colored with cartoon kittens, as if he could get any cuter. Tim helps him pull them down past his knees, giving him room to spread his thighs.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Tim breathes, running his hands up the insides of Martin’s thighs. His cock is already flushed and swollen, peeking out from its thatch of soft curls. Tim leans down to kiss a trail from Martin’s belly button to his mound, then nuzzles his slit. Martin is already wet for him, and he squirms as Tim licks his way inside. 

_“Tim!”_ Martin cries, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“You’re being so good for me,” Tim praises, pressing his tongue against Martin’s cock just to feel him shudder. “You gonna come in my mouth, sweetheart? Let me drink it up?”

“F-fuck,” Martin moans through his fingers. His free hand settles on top of Tim’s head, tangling in his hair.

“You’re so sexy,” Tim murmurs. “I could probably come just from listening to you, let alone _tasting_ you.” 

He slips two fingers into Martin, loving the way he clenches around him, so tight and slick. Martin’s fingers tighten in his hair just the way Tim likes, pulling him closer. Tim moans, sucking Martin’s cock between his lips until Martin’s thighs start trembling, and his breath comes in whimpers. 

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, _Tim—”_ he whispers, breaking off in a low whine. 

Then they hear something that makes them both freeze: footsteps, just outside the door. 

“Shit,” Martin whispers, wriggling in his seat. “You’ve got to—”

“No time!” Tim argues. “I’ll have to stay down here.” 

* * *

Martin’s heart pounds as Jon’s footsteps grow louder. He could swear he feels himself getting wetter, heat flaring between his thighs with each step. Tim’s breath is hot against his skin. Martin grips his hair, breath coming in short pants, and Tim licks idly at his slit. _Fuck._ He should probably tell him to stop, close his legs, push him away, but it feels too _good._

Finally, the door opens. 

“Afternoon,” Jon says. His eyes are glued to a thin sheaf of papers he’s flipping through as he walks. Maybe they’ll be lucky, and he’ll go straight to his office. 

“A-afternoon,” Martin manages.

Jon pauses, looking up from his paperwork, and Martin nearly swears out loud. “Where’s everyone else?”

Tim chooses that moment to flick his tongue against Martin’s cock, and he stifles a moan. It takes embarrassingly long for him to say, “Er—dentist!”

“Both of them?” Jon asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Sasha, I mean. Tim’s at the, uh. He took a break.”

Jon scowls at his watch. “How long has he been gone? I need his notes on the Petrelli statement.”

Tim huffs a breath against Martin’s skin, and he yelps, “Not long!”

Martin stares at his laptop screen, willing himself to hold still and keep _quiet_ , but Tim’s making it hard, swirling the tip of his tongue in a way that makes his thighs tremble. He was close to coming before Jon came in. He can already feel himself clenching around Tim’s fingers. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks. He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s right in front of Martin’s desk. 

Martin looks up, and it’s his downfall. Jon’s eyes are dark and concerned, fixed on Martin with an intensity that makes his mouth go dry.

“I’m—fine!” Martin stammers. His cock throbs, and he can’t resist rocking his hips just a little, pressing into Tim’s mouth. Jon’s so close he could touch, could _see_ if he wanted to, and he’s speaking with that rich voice of his, and it just _does_ things to Martin, all of it, he can’t—

“You’re so flushed,” Jon says. Before Martin can stop him, he lays the back of his hand against Martin’s forehead, and now they’re _touching,_ and Tim’s crooking his fingers just _so,_ and Martin thinks he might die if anything else happens. 

_“Jon—!”_ he gasps, then swallows hard. “S-sorry, must be—coming—down with something.”

Jon gives him a long look, and for a moment, Martin could swear he knows exactly what is happening. Martin doesn’t know if he wants to die, or come, or both. 

“You should take the rest of the day off,” Jon says finally.

Tim sucks _hard,_ and Martin barely manages a strangled, “Okay!” 

Jon finally, _finally_ turns to go into his office, and Martin nearly weeps with relief. As soon as the office door shuts, Tim slides another finger to him, and Martin has to bite down on his fist to keep from screaming, coming so hard he swears he sees stars. By the end, Tim’s face is soaked with his come. 

“God, you’re evil,” Martin whispers, collapsing against his chair. 

Tim smirks and kisses his thigh, then crawls out from under the desk. Martin fishes in the drawer for wet wipes, taking one for himself and giving the rest to Tim. 

“You know you love it,” Tim says, wiping his face before leaning in for a quick kiss. “You got so tight you nearly broke my hand.”

Martin flushes even hotter, swiping at his damp thighs before shimmying back into his clothes. He's still quite slick. It feels pleasantly filthy. 

Without warning, Jon’s door pops open, startling them both. 

“When did you get back?” Jon asks, eyeing Tim suspiciously.

“Just now,” Tim replies with an easy smile. “I just ate the most _delicious_ snack.”

Beneath the desk, Martin aims a kick at Tim’s shin. 

“I don’t care about your eating habits,” Jon snaps. “I need those case notes.”

“Right-o, boss.”

Jon looks from Tim to Martin and back again, his brow furrowing. 

“See you tomorrow, Martin,” he says, popping back into his office.

Martin gathers up his things, still a bit unsteady on his feet.

“You’re coming over tonight,” he says firmly. “And I’m paying you back for every _minute_ of that.”

“What, are you gonna spank me?” Tim teases. 

“I just might.” 

Tim shoots him a toothy grin.

“It’s a date, then.”


End file.
